


A Heart of Gold

by Fanfictionwriter117



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Belle lives on a farm, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Lady Belle, Romance, Shy Rumple, Slavery, Spinner Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Woobie Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4424540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfictionwriter117/pseuds/Fanfictionwriter117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle buys a rejected, crippled slave at an auction and brings him to her farm. But years of slavery, abuse and the loss of his boy has broken this man. Can Belle help him heal?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Belle detested slave auctions.

The law stated that one could own another as property but to her it was barbaric. She didn't believe that anyone should have control over another's life. Whenever she seen the slaves on display she always had to look away. The majority of them which were sold at auction were proclaimed fit, healthy and ready to be put to work but what her eyes told her said otherwise for many were underfed and underdressed, dressed in the plainest of rags, soiled from the conditions in which they were forced to live until they were finally sold.

A crowd had gathered in the town square of her local market and she could tell from the wagon's loaded cargo that it was another slave auction. She watched them go by as they were carted through the narrow, crowded street. She would not normally come to the market unless she needed to. Owning a farm meant she had her own supply of meat, dairy and poultry. Though she had come today in the hopes of purchasing another hen. Ignoring the hustle of the crowd around her and the proclamation that rang though the air announcing the auction was about to start, she remained incurious, looking at the several wooden cages containing plump hens.

"Get em' unloaded!" Someone barked.

She glanced around to see the wagon being unloaded and the slaves being pulled out. The slaver grabbed the first captive, a young woman and pulled her roughly forward, the action forcing the others to follow. She watched as they were lined up at the base of the wooden steps about to be presented to potential bidders. She cast her eyes over them as the first slave was pulled up onto the makeshift stage.

Belle watched a man dressed in fine clothing approach the front of the stage, raising his hands to quiet the crowd. "A fine day, is it not ladies and gentlemen? A fine day for a sale." He said clapping his beefy hands together. "We have a fine collection here today, ladies and gentlemen, and you will have the chance to inspect them but first please draw your attention to this beautiful specimen." He pulled the young woman forward, ignoring her startled yelp. He pulled the ragged clothing from her shoulder, exposing it and part of her chest, her breast barley covered. "Gentlemen?" He chuckled, getting a few in return from members of the crowd.

"Shall I start the bidding at one silver? Who will give me one silver for this one? Two! Do I hear four? Who will give me four silver? Thank you sir, I have four silver. Six silver? Do I have six silver? Ten! I have ten silver. Do I hear fourteen? Fifteen! I have fifteen silver for this wench, who will give me sixteen?"

Belle closed her eyes, forcing herself to look away. She was witnessing a young woman being bargained for like cattle only to be used for a man's own pleasure. She hadn't even realised she was crying before she felt a tear run down her cheek.

"Sold!" She bowed her head. She knew she shouldn't watch but at the same time she knew she shouldn't be silent. She looked up again, tears in her eyes only to see a man climb the stage to inspect his purchase. She watched as he turned her back and forth but she could barley contain herself when he opened her mouth to inspect her teeth as though she were an animal. Satisfied, he smiled as he gave her a sharp slap to her rear, ignoring her pained cry.

"Pleasure doing business with you, sir." The auctioneer beamed as he shook hands with the man before moving onto his next lot.

For Belle, after watching that first slave being sold, it all passed by in a blur. Each slave was brought up, bid for and sold. It wasn't until they came to the very last slave did she find herself unable to look away. The poor soul could barely climb the steps as he appeared to be struggling to hop on one foot. With the aid of two slavers gripping him tightly by the arms, he was hoisted forcibly onto the platform. She continued to watch as he panted tiredly, trying to catch his breath. He was crippled.

There was something disgusting about selling a crippled man, who appeared to be in his late forties maybe his early fifties. The clothes he wore, like the rest of the slaves, hung off his too thin frame. His over tunic was filthy and torn at the front, exposing most of his chest and to Belle's horror, his breastbone and ribs. His head was bowed forward, matted hair concealing host of his face as he continued to take deep breaths in an effort to get some air back into his lungs.

Taking his place in front of the slave, the auctioneer extended a hand towards the older man behind him. "Our last item, ladies and gentlemen. He's old, I grant, but make no mistake ladies and gentlemen, he is spry." The crowd murmured quietly, clearly disinterested.

"He can cook," the auctioneer went on "clean, sew and mend clothing. A marvel at the wheel." The auctioneer motioned hastily for the two slavers to bring him closer for the crowd to have a better inspection if he was ever going to have any chance of finally selling this one. The man himself had kept his head bowed low, staring at his worn shoes while the auctioneer made an attempt to sell him. It was his age and his crippled leg that had failed him. No one wanted to buy a crippled, weak, old man.

His continuous rejection meant that his master had lost out on money and as a result he was denied food and water for days on end, only to be washed and fed when it was auction day in an attempt to finally sell him. Countless nights he had lay awake and prayed. He prayed for his boy and that he may see him again one day. He prayed for better fortunes, for comfort. Even though he knew there was no escaping this life, the distant thought that someone might hear his prayer brought him peace. He closed his eyes, feeling a tear run down his cheek.

"Inspect at your leisure sir, inspect at your leisure!" He heard the auctioneer beam. He opened his eyes to see a finely dressed man with polished boots approach him. He wore an expressionless face as he turned the frail man back and forth, examining his body. He took a hold of his head, pushing his lip upwards as he inspected his teeth, accessing his oral hygiene and rifled fingers through his hair, examining his scalp for lice. He took ahold of his chin, tilting his head in various directions as he examined his face, no doubt taking note of his sunken eyes and his protruding cheekbones. His gaunt features showing his malnourishment. The man, whose face had not changed, shook his head.

"Not to your liking, sir?" The auctioneer enquired, hands steepled together.

"He's not worth the dirt on my boots, never mind my coin." The man replied, dissatisfaction evident in his tone and with a curt nod, he dismounted the stage. Belle continued to watch the scene unfold with a tightness in her chest as two more customers approached the old man, a couple. The lady clothed in a simple dress with elegant trimmings held her husband's arm while he inspected the slave. He pulled his tunic apart at his chest, exposing most of his ribs.

With a mummer of discontentment, he tapped the old man's thigh twice with a polished cane, signalling him to turn around. The slave did so but with great difficulty as the slavers supporting him had to manually turn him, immediately brining his disability to the gentleman's attention. Like the first man, he shook his head in decline. The man was filthy, gaunt faced and lame. He was damaged goods.

"Not to your taste?" The auctioneer asked, moving the slave out of his way.

"I breed horses, sir. I know quality and this is not quality!" He jabbed the point of the cane into the man's leg for emphasis, ignoring his yelp of pain. Should ever one of his beasts suffer a lame leg, it would be immediately put out of its misery. With an nod of his head, he and his wife dismounted the platform. The auctioneer watched them disappear into the mass. Two more customers dissatisfied and still no sale. The auctioneer cleared his throat, slicking back his grey hair as he adjusted his coat.

Hearing a weak moan coming from behind him, he looked around to see the old man sagging forward, the two slavers holding the majority of his weight. He looked to the old man who's long hair had fallen into his face. The auctioneer looked with stern eyes from the slave to his men, demanding an explanation.

"He's going to faint, sir." One of them explained, hoisting the old man up.

"Get him out of here!" The auctioneer hissed, waving his hand sharply in dismissal. That old mutt was more trouble than he was worth. They nodded, hastily manoeuvring him off the stage much to the crowds displeasure. He kept his eyes on them until they were out of sight before turning his eyes back to the crowd, his face once again optimistic.

"My sincerest apologies for the delay, ladies and gentlemen." The auctioneer apologised, holding a hand to his chest.

Belle watched as they manoeuvred the poor man down the steps but she did not see where he had been taken. What alarmed her was that he had not been brought back to one of the wagons so she feared the worst despite not knowing anything about the man. She had kept her eyes on him the whole time that man had tried to sell him, she could see his health deteriorating. She saw him pant and shallow heavily. It was only lately she noticed he was sweating as he swayed uneasily on his feet, despite the two slavers holding him up.

She overheard the auctioneer apologise to the crowd and conclude the auction, thanking everyone for the purchases and announcing when he would be next returning. She knew she should be returning home soon with the sun starting to get low. The cows needed to be put back into their stalls and the pigs needed to be fed. However, she felt compelled to find out what had become of that slave, if only to make sure he was ok. She made her way through the dispersed crowd towards the stage. As the crowds began to part she seen the two slavers preparing the horses and the auctioneer observing but no sign of the old man.

Approaching them, she cleared her throat. The auctioneer looked around, a hint of surprise on his flushed face. "Hello, milady." He greeted with a curt nod. "What can I do for you?" Before she could answer, she heard a wheezing coughing coming from inside an old alcove sorting bags of grain and barrels of ale.

Stepping in front of the man, she approached the alcove and peered in only to see the old slave, lying in a heap on the ground. He was coughing so hard, his body heaving which left him gasping for air. She bent down to the poor man, placing a hand under his head, gently stroking his forehead. He was also running a high fever. Looking back up at the auctioneer she seen nothing but indifference. He cared nothing for this man. To him, he was damaged goods only to be discarded. He was expendable.

"Is there something I can assist you with, milady?" He asked in the same respectful tone, his hands behind his back. She as astonished. How could anyone have such disregard for another person's life? She hated the slave trade and the laws that permitted it. She watched helpless men, women an children separated from one another and sold. She could not turn away and ignore it, to turn a blind eye but there was something she could do.

"I'll take him." She stated with her eyes fixed firmly on the auctioneer.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the utter shock on his face, he did not argue. Nor did it take him long to settle for a price. Two gold pieces and the deal was done.

"A pleasure, milady. A pleasure." The auctioneer beamed happily, admiring his money. Belle ignored him, instead focusing on the older man who was staring fearfully up at her, his lip quivering ever so slightly. The sight of him lying there in the mud, tears rimming in his bloodshot eyes was something she would never forget. She tried not to wince as he jerked away from her, whimpering.

"It's okay," she whispered gently. The last thing she wanted to do was frighten him even more than he already was. She slowly reached out a hand, touching his shoulder and holding it there, showing him that she meant him no harm. Feeling her gentle, reassuring hand on his shoulder, he felt his chest constrict and his breathing increase. He could see his vision beginning to blur, the world around him coming in and out of focus.

Before everything went black, the last thing he seen were her worried eyes.

They were almost halfway home before the sun had begun to set. After her father died, he had left her an old country house surrounded by farmland. When she had first moved from the stress and noise of the city to the peacefulness of the country, the old house had been in disarray. While the house was liveable, it was dusty with creaking stairs and floorboards. The house and the land surrounding it had been in her family for generations. There was nothing she loved more than getting up just before dawn and riding over her estate, through the nearby woodland among the herd of wild deer that grazed there.

As they came to a small stream, she knew they were almost home. Just beyond it lay the border of her estate.

Glancing over her shoulder, she looked on as the thin man lying in the back of the wagon lay in a fetal position, bundled in a thin blanket. She jerked the reins of her horse, prompting him to quicken his pace. She could see storm clouds gathering ahead. When they finally arrived outside the large house, she dismounted the wagon, giving the chestnut Shire horse a gentle pat.

Hearing a small creak, she looked back to see the man, now awake, struggling to get up. His bony hand gripped the side of the cart as he tried to pull himself up but he was so weak he could barely support his own body weight. Seeing that he was struggling, she approached him slowly, holding out a hand despite the fear in his eyes as he seen her approach. He looked at her hand and then back to her. His brow furrowed, almost as though he were confused. Hesitantly, he took her hand, shifting off the back of the wagon.

"Easy now," she cooed, wrapping his arm around her neck and her own around his waist. Slowly, she carried him into the house, letting him lean on her as she supported his weight. She brought him to a small guest bedroom on the bottom floor. He was disabled, suffering from a limp which caused him evident pain each time he had to put pressure on his right leg. Throwing back the thick bedcovers, she laid him in bed. She placed a hand on his forehead, feeling the sweat under her palm. He was still burning.

She walked around the side of the bed and pulled a woven chord, summoning a servant. Before long, an older woman came into the room.

"You called, milady?" She asked warmly, brushing a stray strand of grey hair out of her face. She glanced at the man lying in the bed. He lay with his head to the side, facing away from her. His eyes were closed and his brow was laced with a thin layer of sweat, creased in discomfort as his stomach emitted a low, gurgling sound. He groaned. Worriedly, she looked back to her young mistress who sadly shook her head. Rubbing a thumb over his hand, she felt the rough callouses from many years of toil. He was a cripple who had been mistreated, starved, humiliated and sold. He was terrified, whimpering and cowering and she felt her heart break each time she saw the fear in his eyes. She doubted that he had been shown a hint of kindness in a long time.

His breath suddenly hitched, sending him into a violent coughing fit. Belle quickly reached out, pulling him into an upright position as he coughed, rubbing his back.

"Water!" She ordered urgently as he started to gasp, trying to get some air back into his lungs. The older woman was quick to comply, soon returning with the cup of water.

"Here, drink this." She said, holding it to his lips. Tentatively, he reached his hands up to hold the cup, the tips of his fingers brushing against her hand. She couldn't help but smile as she watched him tip the cup forwards, slowly sipping the water. She knew she shouldn't let him drink so much, but she couldn't find it in her to take it away from him. Who knew the last time he had been given a drink? He was clearly malnourished and from what she could tell, also suffering from dehydration. Once he'd finished, Belle gently lay him back down. Pulling the duvet covers back over him, she noticed that he was staring at her. Up until now she had never had the chance to properly look at his eyes, looking at them now she saw a lot of things but for the first time since she had bought him, no fear.

His stomach gurgled again.

"Are you hungry?"

He looked confused. No one had cared to ask him if he was hungry or not, if he was tired or thirsty. They had given him the same amount of rations as the others, sometimes less or nothing at all as they saw him as a burden. He was one of the oldest out of the slaves, the only other elderly slave had died on the road before he even had the chance to be rejected at auction as he was. His master had only ever fed his slaves enough to keep them going until the next auction, his chance to be rid of them for money and they did not waste food on a weak, frail, cripple who had little to no chance of making a sale.

This gentle woman had bought him and brought him to this house. It unnerved him. He had no idea why she had bought him or what was going to happen, all he knew was just how much he missed his boy. It was the thought of never seeing his child again that sent him into despair which left him unable to sleep at night or concentrate on the manual labour his master had ordered him to do.

Swallowing, he nodded. The very thought of food made his stomach churn with hunger pains. He couldn't remember the last time he had been fed. After his third rejection at auction, his master decided he was useless. Why would his master waste good money and rations on him? The echoing of footsteps against a wooden floor brought him out of his thoughts as the older woman come back into the room with a steaming bowl of broth, the aroma making his mouth water. She sat down on the side of the bed, causing him to tense as she placed a linen napkin over his lap.

"I'm not going to bite," she smiled reassuringly. He looked quizzingly at her while she stirred the broth, giving the spoon a gentle blow before holding it to his mouth. It took a bit of coaxing for him to take the first spoonful but as soon as he got his first taste, he opened his mouth for more.

"That's it," she cooed, continuing to feed him until the bowl was empty. She couldn't help but smile when she noticed his eyes beginning to droop.

"I think someone's getting tired," she muttered to Belle as he yawned tiredly, slumping back down. He had eaten and now was almost asleep in a soft, warm bed.

Belle nodded, hearing a gentle snoring coming from the bed. He was already asleep. She tucked the duvet around him. "Goodnight," she whispered, brushing some of his hair out of his face. Despite his frail condition, she was comfortable to retire to her own chambers knowing that he would sleep through the night. He had been watered, fed and was now resting peacefully. It was the best she could do for him now.

The older woman drew the curtains and extinguished the candles, leaving him to his rest. Stopping at the doorway, Belle took one last look at him as she carefully closed the door, leaving it ajar so that a hint of light still came into the room.

She retired to her own chambers, undressing into a cotton nightgown before letting down her hair, sighing in relief as she ruffled through it.

What a day, she thought to herself. She had went to the market with the intention of buying some fresh eggs and she came back with a slave? Not that she regretted her decision to buy him, not at all, but what she couldn't understand how it came to pass. She detested slave auctions, but in all the auctions she had seen and how sorry she felt for the poor souls being sold like chattel, she had never been compelled to buy one for any reason! She simply couldn't live comfortably with the idea of owning another human being, the idea that she could even go as far as killing someone on a whim and it was perfectly reasonable because it was down on paper, because she had paid for them! To her it was barbaric! To stand and watch them being inspected the way they were, examining their hair, teeth and sometimes other areas, all in front of a crowd?!

When she had first looked at him, she hadn't thought much but the more he was rejected, the more she began to see just how hopeless his situation was. He was much older than the other slaves, frail and crippled but he had been dragged onto that stage and presented only to be rejected. She had seen some of the disapproving faces and heard the discontented mummers. As soon as they had seen him, they shook their heads and waved their hands in dismissal at the sight of him and his crippled leg. She seen the sadness on his face, looking down at his feet or amongst the crowd, and Belle didn't want to imagine his silent pleading falling on deaf ears.

When the auctioneer had failed to sell him, he had discarded him. He would have left him there to fend for himself and with his ailing state along with his disability, Belle doubted that he would have found any work. He would have starved.

A small knock on her door brought her out of her musing. "Come in," she permitted, covering herself up as her housekeeper, Trudy came into the room with a copper bed warmer. Belle moved aside to let her push the copper pan under the bottom of her duvet. Sitting by her bay window, she watched the weather outside. A sudden clasp of thunder illuminated the dark storm clouds that loomed over the moorland as torrential rain hailed down.

"Terrible weather out there," Trudy commented, patting down her bedsheets. Belle couldn't argue with that, though she sometimes enjoyed such weather. She found it oddly comforting, sitting in her room with a book and a warm bed, safe from the storm raging outside her window.

"Can I get you anything, milady? Tea maybe?" Trudy asked as she finished making her bed. Usually, she would read for an hour or two before bed with a cup of tea but it was getting late and there were other matters concerning her. She shook her head, waving her hand in polite dismissal. Trudy sighed. She had known Belle long enough to see that there was a lot on the young woman's mind. She could see that same sad look in her eyes now as she had done downstairs. Honestly, she would be lying if she said she wasn't concerned.

"Belle?" Trudy addressed, sitting beside her. "What happened today?"


	3. Chapter 3

_He was standing alone in the room of a small, empty cottage. He stood motionless, unable to move, gazing around the dilapidated interior of what had once been his home. It was in disrepair, as though abandoned for years. Some of the wooden beams which had supported the roof had collapsed causing a part of the thatched roof of fall, the walls cracked and crumbling, neglected._

_By a broken table beside an extinguished hearth, a lone spinning sat, cobwebs and dust covering the now rotting wood. He watched as the shadow of what had once been his life faded into darkness._

_In the darkness, he stood, silent and unmoving as he heard the faint echo of voices, laughter. It came from all around him, he couldn't tell where it was. The voices continued to speak in hushed whispers, while laughter continued to ring in his ears._

_The crack of a whip!_

The laughter became louder as the voices began to fade. He heard the barking of dogs against the rattling of chained feet shuffling together.

_Amid the darkness, a procession of bound men, women and children walked with their heads bowed, the women clutching protectively to their children. They lumbered, unseeing of his presence before he heard the clank of chains locking. Feeling the all too familiar tightness of the bonds, he looked down, gazing in horror at his own shackled hands. He was pushed forward, causing him to stumble into the ragged bodies as they were marched up onto a platform where he stood, looking into a faceless auction crowd._

_A child's hand tugged at his ragged tunic._

_"...Papa-"_

He awoke with a panicked gasp as he shot up in bed, drenched in sweat. His limbs were stiff and his bad ankle was on fire. He placed a shaking hand over his heart in a vain attempt to calm its forceful beating. He groaned, feeling his stomach twist in knots before he leaned over the side of the bed, retching, violently emptying the meagre contents of his stomach, leaving a foul, sour taste in his mouth which almost made him heave again.

Despite the mess he made on the floor, he closed his eyes as he tried to regulate his breathing. Eventually the pain in his head began to subside as did the pain in his stomach, leaving him drained. Slowly, he eased himself back against the pillows, looking around the room. At first, he couldn't remember where he was or how he'd got here, but then he remembered standing on a wooden platform in front of a crowd as a man, an auctioneer, tried to sell him. He remembered their faces, disapproving and dismissing.

He had been dragged off the stage, feeling faint and thrown in an alcove along with other discarded goods. That was all he was, discarded goods. Crippled, old and weak, he was a burden, unable to make a sale so they had finally disposed of him.

Then he remembered her.

She had bought him and brought him to this house. She was his new mistress though he did not know the purpose as to why she had bought him. Not that it was his place to ask.

He suddenly heard footsteps against a wooden floor, echoing down the hall as they approached. He sat still, apprehensive as the person came closer towards the room before the door opened to reveal an older woman, carrying a bundle of laundry. She looked at him, smiling pleasantly.

"You're awake, thank goodness. Thought that fever would never break." She said, setting about her task of putting away the laundered sheets. He continued to watch her as she carried out her work, not knowing what to say or if he were even _permitted_ to speak. Once she had finished, sighing in relief at another job done, she walked around the side of his bed to open a window before noticing the mess he had made on the wooden floor beside his bed. He visibly tensed as she stood and stared, not knowing what she would do.

"Oh dear," she mumbled, hands on her hips as she looked at him before turning to leave. He watched as she strode down the hall with determined strides and the overwhelming sense of panic almost made his head spin. Where was she going? What if she informed his mistress? He honestly couldn't help it, he just woke up and it happened. He couldn't stop it.

He watched fearfully as the women returned, carrying a wooden bucket in one hand and a mop in the other. She didn't acknowledge him as she soaked the mop to clean the mess. Once it had been cleaned, she dumped the mop back into the bucket, humming in satisfaction. She walked around the bed, only to feel his eyes on her. As she looked around, he quickly averted his gaze.

"It's alright, dear." She said softly, causing him to look up at her. Accidents tended to happen, he didn't need to fear her but from what Lady Belle had told her the previous night, the poor man had every reason to fear her or anyone. From what her Lady had told her of the man and from what she had gathered herself, she could tell that it was going to take time with him. Neither of them knew how many years he had been a slave, but it was evident that his spirit was broken. She knew of the Slave Trade and it disgusted her as well as her mistress knowing that it was not only legal but a booming business that brought with it economic benefits.

"I think a nice, hot bath is in order, eh?" She suggested with a smile before once again leaving the room, murmuring to herself as she went.

He sat, confused, trying to understand. This was not the sort of morning routine he was used to. He, along with the several other slaves he shared a cell with were woken just before dawn to wash and eat before they began their daily work.

Each morning, he was forced to bathe in ice cold water from a bucket which was shared by seven other slaves, all scrambling over one another so that they may have a chance to wash themselves. With him being one of the oldest slaves as well as a cripple, there were not many chances he got to properly bathe himself as he was mostly shoved out of the way. Food in the morning consisted of a chunk of stale bread and a cup of water and even that privilege was taken from him as time went on and he failed continuously to be sold at auction. Denied food and worked to death each day, he became weaker, his spirit long broken since the loss of his boy.

"Here we are," the older woman beamed as she returned, carrying a copper tub filled with steaming hot water. Still feeling his eyes on her, she set the steaming tub down by the side of the bed, pulling a screen beside the tub for him to change behind. They'd have to do something about those rags.

"Come on, then." She coaxed. He did as he was bid, stiffly pulling himself from the bed to hobble slowly behind the screen to undress, throwing the ragged clothing over the top of the screen as he stripped. She took the clothes, nose wrinkling in disgust at odour coming from them but what horrified her was the glimpse she had caught of his shoulder and upper back, littered with bruises of every shape and colour along with angry red welts.

"Do you need any assistance?" She asked, having been informed by her lady that he was lame.

There was no reply and she understood.

"Then I'll leave you to it," she gave a nod of her head before turning towards the door. "Should you need anything, use that bell pull there and I'll come." Then she left, silently wiping her eyes as she closed the door for his privacy.

He waited until her footsteps fade as she descended down the hallway before moving tentatively from the screen to the tub. Dipping a foot in, he gasped as he felt the temperature of the water. It was hot, sending shivers up his body. Gently, he lowered himself down, fully submerging himself into the tub. He paused, remaining still as his body adjusted to the hot water.

Sinking back, he winced as he felt his old bruises sting. His tight muscles and aching joints gradually softening as his worn hands rose slowly to the water's surface, the skin on his fingers softening and beginning to wrinkle as he lay there, breathing in the soothing fragrance of lavender. He closed his eyes, allowing himself this small comfort. Being able to bathe in hot water was a luxury he had never before experienced, even in the life he once had. He didn't know what he had done to be given such a privilege but he was immensely grateful for it none the less as his now softened skin felt healed, his crippled ankle momentarily painless as it lay submerged.

Sighing tiredly, he knew it wouldn't last. This undeserved privilege, the brief absence of pain. Whatever became of him now, this comfort was not something he would soon forget.

A small knock came from the door causing him to stir in alarm. "May I come in, dear?" A voice asked from the other side of the door who he soon recognised as the women he had met earlier. Why she knocked instead of simply entering he didn't understand, but she asked him a question which demanded an answer.

"....Yes?" He sounded so unsure, his confusion evident in his voice. Permission given, she entered the room, carrying a neatly folded bundle of clothes as well as a beaten, old walking stick hooked over her forearm.

"I trust you enjoyed your bath?" She asked pleasantly, setting the clothes on the bed. He nodded hesitantly. "Oh don't be so nervous, dear. I assure you I'm not that scary." She said, chuckling lightly. If she or Lady Belle were to have any chance of gaining his trust then they first had to earn it. From what she had seen, this man had been through hell, evident from the bruises covering his body and his continuous state of fear and unease. She gestured to the clothes laying on the bed, "these will hopefully fit, maybe not the best but they'll be better than those old rags."

He clambered out of the tub, the older woman momentarily averting her gaze to preserve his modesty. Sitting on the bed, his back to her, he picked up one of the pieces of clothing, rubbing his fingers over the soft material as though he had never felt anything like it.

"Well? Let's see how they fit." She beamed, encouraging him to put them on.

Silently, he pulled the linen tunic over his head, doing the same with the pants only to hastily catch them from falling to the floor as he stood, the extent of his malnutrition evident in how loosely they hung off his too thin frame but she was sure that within a few weeks of eating hearty meals he would gain some weight.

_Mrs Potts would see to that!_

She looked him over, ignoring the way he averted his gaze to the floor as she examined him. She handed the walking stick to him, relieved when he took it without needing further prompting. It was a start. He experimented with leaning his weight against it, awe in his eyes as it supported him easily.

"Oh, much better." She smiled in satisfaction before taking an arm to gently usher him from the room.  
She was expecting him to cower when she approached, taking a hold of him, though while he kept his eyes on her, still tense, he had allowed her to walk him out of the room, keeping at his pace as he limped down the hallway towards the kitchen.

When they arrived at the kitchens a large, plump woman came in through the back door, carrying by it's feet a freshly decapitated goose along with a thatched basket containing an assortment of fresh vegetables, ready to be prepped for supper.

"Good morning, Mrs Potts." She greeted warmly. Spinning around in surprise, the old woman beamed. "Oh good morning, Trudy dear!" She greeted happily, before she noticed him standing behind her, almost as though he were hiding. His eyes were lowered with strands of brown hair falling in his face. He looked dead on his feet, as though leaning on his walking stick was the only think keeping from from falling.

 _"Oh_ _my_ _goodness!"_ She exclaimed, rushing over to him, seemingly unaware of his sudden alarm. She took him by the arm, pulling him over to the table by the fire. Taking a ladel, she poured him some soup as it heated over the fire. She also grabbed a hunk of bread and a few berries picked from the garden that morning, adding it also to the makeshift meal.

"Here you are, love." She said, placing the plate in front of him. He looked quizzingly at her, like he didn't understand what was going on before looking at Trudy who nodded in reassurance, understanding his hesitation.

"Go on, dear. It's alright." Permission given, he picked up the spoon and began to eat. It was a pitiful sight, the way he sat hunched over his bowl as though he were afraid it would be suddenly taken from him, the way his hands still shook with tremors. While Trudy knew of his slavery and mistreatment, she knew there was still much her and Lady Belle did not know. Who knew how deep the scars of this man's trauma went?

Lady Belle had the kindest heart Trudy had ever seen and while she knew her lady had only bought him in order to save his life, it still pained her to know that she legally owned him. She had all the rights. The law dictated that she could do whatever she pleased with him as he was now registered as her property. She would never do anything to harm another living thing, Trudy knew, but for so long this man was starved, beaten and severely mistreated. Who knew how long it would take to undo the damage they did?

He finished the bowl, licking his lips and his fingers before pushing it away, once again averting his eyes.

"There's plenty more where that came from, love." Mrs Potts said, taking his bowl. "Would you like more?"

He nodded feverishly, unable to remember the last time he had a full belly. The feeling of emptiness and hunger was all too familiar now. Mrs Potts beamed, a large smile on her face.

"Oh, I do love a man who appreciates good home cooking!" She chuckled in delight, filling his bowl with a second helping. He ate with the same enthusiasm as he had with his first bowl, Mrs Potts doting. It wasn't until her eyes fell upon the swollen flesh inside his left wrist. The scarred skin was raised, clearly visible in the form of two rings intertwined. Her weathered face paled.

_The brand of a slave._

Horrified, she looked to Trudy who shook her head, a mouth in a firm line. Not here. She knew of Mrs Potts' past and how she felt about the slave trade. How she felt about...

The bell rang suddenly above the kitchen hearth.

"I'd...best prepare Lady Belle's breakfast," Mrs Potts said lowly, turning away. Trudy looked at her sympathetically, knowing the subject was a painful one for her and the presence of their guest only reminded her of what she had been through and what she had lost.

She watched as she poured a dollop of steaming fresh porridge into a patterned ceramic bowl, adding a drizzle of golden and freshly picked berries before placing it on a tray. "Here, love." she said almost tiredly, giving her the tray to deliver. She looked to their guest, who was still seated by the fire, watching the flames in an almost mesmerised like state.

"Come on," she said softly as she patted him lightly on the shoulder, causing him to startle. Jerking her head, she beckoned him to follow as she lead the way to her lady's bedchamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter :) Next Belle and Rumple have a bit of time alone and a trip into the nearby village.. how do you think that will go? The next chapter should hopefully be posted by next weekend if life is good! I will try and update as soon as I can but this story is not being abandoned!


	4. Chapter 4

As they made their way to his mistress' bedroom he couldn't help but look. Unlike the kitchen which was stone and wood, the upper floor was finely decorated with hanging tapestries, vases of multicoloured flowers which adorned the windows and portraits of lavish landscapes. Trudy, having already opened all the curtains, stopped outside a room at the end of the corridor, placing a hand to his chest. "Wait here," she whispered before entering the room. Nodding, he remained outside, listening to the gentle stirring of his mistress from behind the door, their voices too low for him to understand.

What he didn't understand was why he had been instructed to remain outside. Possibly due to the state of his lady's undress but he had assumed that he was to be the one to deliver her breakfast. Though he supposed that wouldn't be the case, being his first day and now only regaining the strength to stand on his own two feet, maybe the other woman had suspected that he wasn't ready yet?

The door opened as the older woman came out. "Come," she beckoned him with her hand, ushering him in. Glancing around the room, his eyes widened in awe for it was nothing short of grand. In the room there sat a large four poster bed with a large window to the side, overlooking the vast countryside. By the foot of the bed, a large stone cut hearth was positioned, fire burning, which gave the room a comfortable temperature. By the fire, there was a large mahogany desk and chair, ink pot and quail and behind it a large shelf containing numerous books and scrolls.

Unable to read, the written language meant nothing to him. They were nothing but mere lines on a page.

"I trust you slept well?" A gentle voice spoke from behind him, startling him as he jumped with a gasp. Turning he saw his mistress sitting up in bed, an amused smile on her face. He gulped. How could he have not noticed her? _His own mistress!_ He had been so curious looking around the furnishings of the room he had neglected to acknowledge his lady, whose room this was and all because he let his mind wander!

Quickly he bowed, "I-I did, milady." He kept his gaze on the floor, not willing to look up. He heard the quiet rustling of sheets and the padding of feet before a hand was placed under his chin, slowly lifting his head up to meet her gaze. "Belle." She corrected, seeing his confused frown.

"My name is Belle," she elaborated watching as his face turned to one of horror. "I-I couldn't!" He replied, shocked at the idea of addressing his mistress, his owner by her first name. As though he were free. He knew it to be improper for a slave to address their owner by their name, a etiquette of slavery that had been repeatedly beaten into him.

"I insist," she replied, smiling brightly. She knew that this was a wall they would need to break, the conditioned behaviour he had grown accustomed to. Meeting her gaze, he appeared still unsure.

"As you wish, milady." He cursed himself, already forgetting. "Belle" He corrected hastily but she was far from convinced. Knowing what had been done to him and aware of the physical and emotional scars it carried, she knew that it wouldn't be easy gaining his trust, especially on his own free will but hopefully today she could start to undo the damage that had been done. Which reminded her...

"Now, while we are on the subject, may I know what your name is?" She asked, curiously. While her mind had been so preoccupied over the past twenty four hours, she had never thought to inquire as to what he was called, something she couldn't help but feel a little bad about.

"...It's Rumplestiltskin." She wasn't expecting that. The name was a mouthful, but a unique one indeed. But with the use of his name, she could give him a sense of identity again as well as get him some decent clothes, not the dirty, threadbare rags he'd been forced to wear and she knew just the man to go to!

"Have you ever been to Avonlea, Rumplestiltskin?" She asked him, going behind her screen to wash and change, unaware of his blushing cheeks as she threw her nightmare over the top. He shook his head. "I...can't say that I have. D-Do you need any, uh, assistance?" He asked, cursing his awkward stammer. She chuckled, "I'm fine. Thank you, Rumple."

 _Rumple?_ She'd given him a nickname. Like he was...

He shook his head, snapping himself out of his thoughts, knowing his mind had a tendency to wander and he was already getting ahead of himself! Nickname or not, smiles and pleasantries or not, he was still her slave and she a kind mistress. He had only one previous mistress before, Mistress Milah, whom he had been ordered to cook for as well as bathe, dress and service whenever she decided. He just prayed that his new mistress wouldn't order him to sleep with her only to scold his inexperienced attempts when ordered to please her.

Ordered on a whim, he had been brought to her chambers after a long day of scrubbing the floors of the kitchen and pantry. On his hands and knees despite the burning pain in his ankle, he scrubbed the stone floors until he ached. She had only a handful of paid servants in her employment and he found them to be just as cruel as she was, leaving him to carry their load as well as his own. There were times he had been run so ragged he barely had time to think, often making mistakes. He forgot about her breakfast, when to run her bath, launder her clothing, prepare the other servant's breakfast and it often resulted in him going hungry or sleeping out with the animals.

_"You're pathetic," She hissed, standing above him as he cleared the ash from her fireplace, coughing as he inhaled it._

_"I'm sorry, mistress." He muttered, still focusing on his task, already covered in black ash. He heard his mistress scoff, possibly drinking as she was prone to do some evenings._

_"Yes, you're always sorry. But you never seem to learn, do you?" He still didn't look at her, knowing from experience, when she was like this it was better to just continue with his chores and she would eventually leave._

_"Answer me!" She yelled, kicking the tray across the room, the ash covering him as well as the floor. He sighed, tiredly. "No, mistress."_

_She didn't reply, only scoffed as she turned to leave the room. "Clean it up," she snapped, slamming the door behind her. He turned to see the floor he had spent hours scrubbing now covered in a layer of black ash and as the realisation once again dawned that this was now his existence, he cried._

A hand brought him back to the present. "Are you alright, dear?" It wasn't his mistress, but the other woman he had become familiar with. He looked around the room, only to meet their concerned stares. "You left us for a while there," she explained and he knew that he had once again become lost in his own thoughts, still plagued by memories he'd much rather forget.

"I'm sorry," he apologised, not meeting their sympathetic eyes.

"It's alright, Rumple." His mistress reassured, "though as I was said to Trudy, I do believe you are in need of new clothes as well as other basic necessities, so if you are feeling up to it, maybe you could accompany me into Avonlea?" She kept her tone light, trying not to sound as though she were ordering him to come, knowing how his mindset may interpret her request.

Looking between the two women, one of them he now identified as Trudy, he nodded hesitantly, "Of course."

"Wonderful!" Belle said happily earning a smile from Trudy. Despite the abuse he had suffered, he couldn't be in better hands than those of her lady. Once dressed, she met with Trudy and Rumple who were waiting at the front door while her horse and cart was being prepared for their journey into the town.

"We shouldn't be too long," Belle said as she wrapped a shall around her shoulders, coming down the stairs.

"Well, Mrs Potts will have supper ready by evening I would expect, miss." Trudy laughed as she winked, knowing just how much Belle adored Mrs Potts' cooked meals. Being his first supper with them in the house, she suspected he would be in for a treat.

Accepting Rumple's hand of assistance, she mounted the cart while Rumple, with slight difficulty managed to do the same before they set off. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as the house faded slowly into the distance, feeling the finest bit of unease that he may not return. He sat back against the wooden seat, looking into his lap.

"We'll only be a few hours, Rumple." Belle said, sensing his unease yet still keeping her eyes on the road. He didn't reply though she knew that he had subconscious fears. She sighed. In just under an hour they would reach Avonlea and once there they would get him what he needed, make him feel a little more human.

When they arrived in Avonlea, he wasn't prepared for was the onslaught of people traveling in and out of the large city gates. The streets were lined with vendor carts and stores, along with whitewashed homes with slate roofs, so unlike the thatched ones he had become to accustomed to seeing. Riding further into the city they passed cates of produce from the stalls, next to a large pen where livestock was being auctioned to the highest bidder, something Rumple clenched his eyes at, having to look away. Seeing this, Belle jerked the horse's reins, prompting it to trot faster.

"Here we are," Belle smiled, once they had entered a clearing where she could tie the horse. As soon as the cart stopped, Rumple, much to her own dismay, jumped from the wooden seat, hurrying around to her side to offer her his hand so that she may dismount the cart. Thanking him, she gave the horse a gentle pet before wandering into the crowd, her slave following suit.

"Where are we going, Belle?" He asked, trying not to lose her amount the people. Cursing herself for her ignorance, she took his arm, linking it in her own. "You need clothes," she said, guiding him through the mass of people. "And I know just the place," she muttered with a smile, steering him in the direction of a small shop located on on of the corner streets.

He heard the chime of a small bell as she pushed the door open. Taking hold of the door, he allowed her to enter ahead of him. She stepped over the threshold with a sense of familiarity, moving straight towards the counter, leaving him behind as he took in his surroundings.

The shopfront was modesty sized, he would dread to see the place on a busy day. Light spilled into the room from the main window, bathing the place in such a way that it seemed to eliminate any trace of shadow. There was a sense of organised clutter, a few mannequins in the window dressed in various fashions, jackets, waistcoats, pants and various dress pieces categorised and hanging from small brass hooks on the walls. He felt as though he were being assaulted by colour in every direction he turned, sea greens, turquoise blues and a spectrum of crimsons. There was such a seeming level of care and artistry that it bordered on the obsessive.

Belle leaned over the counter a little, moving up onto one foot as she balanced herself on the countertop. "Lumiere?" she called out, "the door was open, are you in?" He turned to watch her, moving slowly towards the counter. As he moved to her side, the tailor stepped out from the back room, pushing a light curtain aside with the back of his hand.

He was a lean man, handsome, bow lipped with clear skin and sun in his cheeks. His eyes were a light hazel, his dark hair tied back in a tight ponytail. His shirt held tightly to him, wiry muscle pressed to the fabric. He wore a blue waistcoat, each brass button expertly polished, the buckled on his shoes having received the same treatment. He smiled at Belle, his long arms outstretched as he stepped around the counter. "Ah Mademoiselle!" He began, taking her gently by the shoulders. "Too long. It has been too long."

"Oui, my friend. Have you been keeping yourself busy?" She asked, looking up to smile at him warmly, a smile that he returned. "I've been so busy these past few weeks, I am welcoming the solace." He leaned down, blocking his mouth with the back of his hand. "Weddings, eh? You women can become quite vicious if you may permit me to say so."

He stepped back quickly, chucking as Belle moved her arm up as if to jab him in the ribs. "So, is this a social call or do you require my services?" He asked, leaning back against the counter. She reached back, taking the older man by his sleeve, gently pulling him forward. "But of course, Monsieur. I'm in need of some new clothes for my friend." She replied, stepping aside as not to obstruct Lumiere's vision. Both men regarded one another for a moment in silence.

Lumiere stepped forward slowly, scanning him meticulously. Rumplestiltskin watched warily as he circled him, unable to make direct eye contact with the other man. Lumiere leaned in, stepping closer. "These are your clothes, no?" He asked, almost blankly. He looked at the younger man before quickly averting his gaze. "No sir." He replied quietly, "these have been provided for me by the lady."

Lumiere leaned to the side to look over his shoulder in an accusatory manner. Her brow furrowed as she crossed her arms. "He has only recently come into my household, Lumiere. I have no suitable attire to provide him."

"Clearly." Lumiere replied, lightly tugging at the man's sleeve, showing how much fabric came away from his arm. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, "these clothes are not suited for a gentleman twice his fellow's size...or any gentleman at all for that manner."

"Then what would you suggest?" She asked, lightly scoffing. Lumiere placed his hand on his shoulder, looking to him. "Your name, sir?" He asked as he played with the shirt fabric.

The older man swallowed, keeping his gaze downcast. "Rumplestiltskin, sir." He replied, edging forward to avoid the grip of the man currently tugging at his clothes. "Well, Monsieur Rumplestiltskin, allow Lumiere to open your eyes to all new possibilities. Onward!" He beamed jovially, as he linked his arm, marching him forward. Nervously, he looked back over his shoulder to Belle, eyes pleading. She only smiled, almost apologetically, waving as he was escorted into the back room of the shop.

Lumiere gently took the older man’s cane from him, moving to a nearby counter to collect a tape measure, pencil and some paper which he set down on a nearby table. “Come.” He said, gently beckoning. Rumple stepped forward as steadily as he could, Lumiere already commencing his assault, moving to quickly measure his inside leg, as well as taking its girth.

“Have you know the lady long, Monsieur?” Lumiere asked as he scribbled frantically. “No,” he replied, stiffening slightly as he felt his arm being manoeuvred. “I’ve only been...in the lady’s services for a short while.”

“Oh, you’re a valet are you? She is truly a gem. Do not tell her I say this though, or I fear she may have my head!” The younger man teased, a look of mock prettification on his face.

He placed the sheet of paper to Rumple’s back as he took the measurements of his arm's length. He gently tapped his under arms, signalling for him to raise them, which he did slowly. Lumiere wrapped the tape around his chest first, then his waist. He stood for a moment after scribbling down the measurements.

“Could you keep your arms up for a moment longer, Monsieur?” He requested.

“Is there something wrong?” Rumple asked, tilting his head back over his shoulder to see the young tailor scratching his smoothly shaven chin. “Non, of course not. I just appear to have measured your waist and chest incorrectly.”

Rumple stood patiently as he allowed Lumiere to measure him not only a second, but a third and fourth time. The look on the tailor’s face turned slowly from confusion to concern as he paced the small back room. He measurement of this man’s mid section were the same each time. He appeared to be as thin as some of his younger female customers if not thinner.

The older man looked at him worriedly, clearly reading the expression on his face. Lumiere gave of a loud, jovial laugh, causing him to jump slightly. “How stupid of me!” He began, “I seem to be off form today. I will be right back, Monsieur.” He said, quickly leaving Rumple alone in the small room.

Belle looked up from the waistcoat she was admiring to see Lumiere striding towards her, a face like stone, eyes pried open. “Is everything...”

“Oui!” He almost shouted back, “Oui...I just have to put the gentleman’s outfit together.” He said, scanning the hangers and reaching with his left hand, collecting a red waistcoat, tanned redish pants and a white, long sleeved shirt. He quickly scurried back behind the curtain, only to reappear in seconds. “I will give him some time to change.”

He sat on the edge of the counter, his brow furrowed. Belle approached him slowly. “Lumiere, what’s wrong?” She asked, placing a hand on his knee. He looked up to face her. “Who is that man, Belle? He is so very thin, it is not healthy. Where did this man come from? Why is he this way?”

Belle felt the pressure of Lumiere’s hand on hers, gripping it firmly. “It is a long story, my friend. I assure you he is not nor will he be in the position that brought him to this again. I will explain everything, I promise.” She said, looking at the young tailor, thinking that there may have been a hit of wetness gathering at the corners of his eyes. They heard the heavy curtain being drawn back, Lumiere almost tripping over his long legs in an attempt to stand quickly.

He stood in the door frame, his hair tied back from his face. Belle smiled softly at the sight of him. The outfit looked spacious, unlike what he had been wearing. They suited him well; he even looked a little handsome for his age. He stepped out of the door frame, his hand braced to his hip for support. His face burned as they both looked at him. “How do I look?” He asked, slightly nervous.

“Well, Sir.” Belle said, smiling. “You look well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My boyfriend helped with the tailor shop, was dying to do it! Should try and update within the next week or so, so stay tuned and thank you for following! xx

**Author's Note:**

> This was another idea that popped into my head after watching Desperate Souls


End file.
